ond their own narrow
conception.

To these it may sound more than strange; it may appear
incredible, that on the theatre of Athens, the dance of the
Eumenides, or Furies, had so expressive a character, as to
strike the spectators with irresistible terror. The Areopagus
itself shuddered with horror and affright; men grown old in the
profession of arms, trembled; the multitude ran out; women with
child miscarried; people imagined they saw in earnest those
barbarous deities commissioned with the vengeance of heaven,
pursue and punish the crimes of the earth.

This passage of history is furnished by the same authors, who
tell us, that Sophocles was a genius; that nothing could
withstand the eloquence of Demosthenes; that Themistocles was a
hero; that Socrates was the wisest of men; and it was in the
time of the most famous of the _Greeks_ that even upon those
highly privileged souls, in sight of irreproachable witnesses,
the art of dancing produced such great effects.

At Rome, in the best days of this art, all the sentiments which
the dancers expressed, had each a character of truth, so great a
power, such pathetic energy, that the multitude was more than
once seen hurried away by the illusion, and mechanically to take
part in the different emotions presented to them by the animated
picture with which they were struck. In the representation of
_Ajax in a frenzy_, the spectators took such violent impressions
from the acting-dancer who represented him, that they perfectly
broke out, into outcries; stripped, as it were, to fight, and
actually came to blows among each other, as if they had caught
their rage from what was passing on the theatre.

At another time they melted into tears at the tender affliction
of Hecuba.

And upon whom were these lively impressions produced? Upon the
cotemporaries of Mecenas, of Lucullus, Augustus, Virgil, Pollio;
upon men of the most refined taste, whose criticism was as
severe as their approbation honorable; who never spared their
censure nor their applause, where either was due. How,
especially under the eyes of Horace, could any thing pass the
approbation of the public, unless under the seal of excellence
in point of art and good taste? Would Augustus have declared
himself the special patron of a kind of entertainment that had
been deficient as to probability and genius? Would Mecenas, the
protector of Virgil, and of all the fine arts, have been pleased
with a sight that was not a